Interests

August 24th, evening
The last arc of the sun lay simmering on the horizon, burning a deep blood red, and staining the city like some kind of profane prophecy. Long shadows stretched out into the crimson light like ghastly claws stretching through pools of blood. Sam sat in her car and fought against the raw nerves that were making her regret getting out of bed that morning. She was clad in black from head to toe, a conceit to stealth that did nothing to help cope with the late day heat. Black boots, leggings, tee-shirt under a black sweatshirt, and a black ball-cap with her hair pulled through the loop in the back. Her car was parked down the street from Brad's bloodsucking leech of a master's home, and she was waiting and watching. Once the sun fell below the horizon, which would be very soon by the way the ember was dripping down toward the sea, the creature would wake and then it and it's blood addled slaves would apparently leave apparently to rob the UCLA business school.
Sam intended to shadow them, follow them to hopefully win an opportunity to free Brad from the monster's clutches, if that was even possible. The woman, Bonita, probably deserved it too, or maybe she had at one point; now she was as cruel and evil as her master, but she was at least human. The whole process wasn't an exact science. Hell, it's barely even a plan, Sam grumbled to herself.
Night fell. Officially. That just meant that the last burning trace of the sun finally fell below the horizon. In actuality the dark merely took a stronger hold as the last long streamers of direct light evaporated into nothingness. Twilight now clad the city in in dim light that would wane for the next hour or two before full dark finally banished the last of the reflected natural light.
In her car, Sam lurked like a living shadow until the barely glowing hands of her watch indicated half past ten. The garage door rolled up and a van backed out. Sam started her own car and followed the van, sparing to thought to the possibility that all three may not be within. Whichever of them drove they drove carefully, never going above the speed limit, never running a light or rolling through a stop sign. It was so conspicuously safe and legal that only somebody unaccustomed to crime would think to drive that way. The drive took nearly forty minutes but finally they breached the campus perimeter. The van stopped, the lights going out immediately. Sam quickly pulled into a spot further down the street and got out of her car. In all black she was a shadow walking in darkness, and she hoped that that would be enough.
The three figures got out of the van and started walking, Sam wondered why they didn't drive directly to the business building, but then figured that it would be more conspicuous for a van than for three figures with fully laden backpacks. Whatever they were planning to steal would be small and valuable. That or there was more to the plan that Sam would learn in time. It didn't matter, she'd find out soon enough. She trailed along behind the three, her rubber sole boots making little noise, and her slim, black clad form darting from tree to shrub, to car.
Up ahead the two ghouls plodded on with singular purpose, oblivious to their tail. Henrik was a hunter, and man with experience. He had made Sam long ago, almost as soon as they left the haven. He smiled; tonight's meal had come to him.
Shadowing Sam
[jameson] 9:20 pm: Dex 2 + Stealth (shadowing) 2(3) = 5 dice, just for giggles and drama
jameson *rolls* 5d10: 6+4+2+1+3: 16
[jameson] 9:22 pm: Brad 5 dice
jameson *rolls* 5d10: 6+5+1+7+3: 22
[jameson] 9:22 pm: Bonita 6 dice
jameson *rolls* 6d10: 5+3+4+7+2+7: 28
[jameson] 9:23 pm: lulz
[Jeremy] 9:23 pm: lol
[jameson] 9:23 pm: Henrik 5 dice
jameson *rolls* 5d10: 10+8+8+9+8: 43
jameson *rolls* 1d10: 2: 2
[Jeremy] 9:23 pm: ....your luck run out
[jameson] 9:23 pm: ruh-roh
[jameson] 9:24 pm: Sam's gonna need some help
[Jeremy] 9:24 pm: hmm...
[Owns-The-Night] 9:25 pm: The Yard Snake to the rescue!

August 23rd
The morning was already warm, indicating that the way would be another hot one. Sam knew she would be driving around for a while so she dressed light, shorts, a tank top, and sandals, with her hair pulled into a ponytail to keep it up off her neck. A light shirt would complete the outfit and hide her weapon while she was out and about, but was slung over a chair at the moment. She stood before the mirror and wished that the shorts weren't so tight, mostly because that would mean that she'd have lost some more weight since she last wore them. She turned, and looked at her rear, "It could be worse." She sighed, "Could be better too." The gardener liked what he saw. Sam, alone in her room, blushed. "Damnit, maybe I do need to get laid." She frowned and then kicked off the sandals and pulls some ankle socks on and laced up her Chuck Taylors. They were better by far for walking, or running, than the slip on sandals were.
She padded out of her room, and found the TV on in the living room, colorful cartoons spraying out a prismatic gout of colors that would have given any mortal man a seizure. They were fine for kids though. Timmy sat cross legged on the floor, plastic superhero figures clutched in his hands, his pajamas still twisted around his body from sleep. "Hi mom!" he said without looking from the TV.
Sam smiled and walked over to him, "Morning sweetie, what do you want for breakfast?" She kissed him on the top of his bed-head tousled hair.
"Chocolate frosted sugar bombs!"
"Timmy," Sam said moving to the kitchen, ignoring the request for the sugar laden cereal his father let him eat. "Do you want Cheerios or Frosted Flakes?" She rephrased her inquery, to avoid argument.
"They're GRRREAT!!" Timmy piped from the living room floor.
"Frosted flakes it is," Sam pulled out the Cheerios too, she didn't care for the flakes. A couple of bowls came out of the dishwasher, followed by spoons and shortly she called, "OK, come on, you don't want them to get soggy."
"EEWW!" Tim came barreling in from the other room and leaped into his chair.
A horrifying array of sounds soon followed that had Sam shaking her head, "Tim, slow down, chew with your mouth closed. Sheesh."
"OK!" he replied around a mouthful of cereal.
Sam hung her head, defeated. At seven years old manners were no match for the power of a hungry young boy. "Close enough." A little while later the sound of a key in the lock was followed by the nanny. "Morning Sally, care for some cereal?"
"Morning Sam, no thanks I grabbed a bagel." Sally was twenty five, and while she could be called cute, few would call her beautiful, but that made little difference because she was a fantastic nanny.
"Hi Sally!" Timmy said, a little milk dribbling down his chin as he did.
"Good morning Timmy. Don't talk with your mouth full please."
Tim swallowed, "OK, sorry."
Sam suppressed a slight scowl, sometimes she was worried Sally was more a mother to Tim than she was. She finished her breakfast over idle chatter with Sally and then prepared to go. "I don't expect to be late today, but if that changes I'll call," she told the other woman. "OK, Timmy come and give me a hug before I go." Sam crouched down and Timmy came running at her nearly bowling her over as he threw his arms around her. "Love you, honey, be good for Sally."
"Love you mommy ... Can we get pizza tonight?" Timmy was shameless when it came to pizza.
"Sure, but only if you're good. I'll see you tonight." She kissed him again, in the cheek, which he tolerated with only a little squirming before racing off to play.
Sam went down to her car and readied for her morning. Lots of driving, probably covering ground more than once, and with a little luck she would find the subject of her search by lunchtime. She propped Brad's photo on the dashboard in front of the steering wheel, removed the locket from her neck, and started off into traffic.
Delving for Brad
Spending a WP 4/6
[jameson] 7:39 pm: Wits 3 + Occult 2 + 1 psychic powers specialty = 6 dice
jameson *rolls* 6d10: 1+3+9+6+6+6: 31
jameson *rolls* 6d10: 4+4+1+1+7+1: 18
jameson *rolls* 6d10: 10+9+10+1+10+9: 49
jameson *rolls* 3d10: 6+4+3: 13
jameson *rolls* 6d10: 7+5+5+1+2+3: 23
jameson *rolls* 6d10: 4+10+5+8+2+5: 34
jameson *rolls* 1d10: 10: 10
jameson *rolls* 1d10: 9: 9
[jameson] 7:40 pm: that's 10
[jameson] 7:40 pm: 2.5 hours

Name: Samantha Berkley Spaid
Nicknames: "Sam" Spaid
Age: 33
Race: White
Height: 5' 3"
Weight: mind your business
Concept: Psychic Private Eye
Faction: none
Group Name: none
Virtue: Justice
Vice: Wrath
Appearance:
A short brunette with green eyes, Sam has a petite figure which is best described as slim. While working she maintains a plain appearance as an aide to her work. Attractive women get noticed, plain woman in plain clothes can trail a target that much easier and draw much less unwanted interest. Sam is 33 yrs old and carries some worry lines as any mother is wont to do; with her hair done up and flattering clothing she is considered quite pretty, though by the standards of the area she is hardly attractive as most locals would use it.
Background:
Samantha Spaid, wanted little more than to become a police detective. Her career was going well until her personal life fell apart. At twenty-four she found herself pregnant with her first child. The pregnancy and resulting maternity leave pushed her to the back of the queue for new detectives. After she returned to work she found that having a child at home changed her outlook, further she struggled with returning to her pre-pregnancy physical condition. When she found her husband cheating on her with her supervisor the bottom fell out. The divorce tore her apart and, dejected, she left the LAPD behind.
After a year she finally was able to get her life under control and secured her PI's license rather than return to police work. For nearly three years she has been scrapping to get by with what little she made as a PI and with the help of her father, a retired policeman himself. Recently a mysterious young man (Adrian) has been paying her well to keep him on the books as a partner in order to help him gain his own PI's license. The money has allowed Sam to hire a nanny to watch her son Tim when she works, and to get ahead of her creditors. Though she still barely scrapes by on her PI's income she can at least afford to raise her son in a stable and loving environment.
Sam has always had a reliable sense of intuition. Her "gut" was often able to point her toward clues or logic leaps that others missed. Three years her intuition gave way to full blown psychic power. Sam found that with a little effort and an open mind she was able to see past events, view remote locations, and that with enough time she could find anything she put her mind to locating. Flashes of precognative visions, and auras started to begin a year later and as she began to start doubting her own sanity a White Rabbit came along and, without meaning to, pulled her her down the rabbit hole.
The vampire Adrian used Sam to get his PI's licence, and she used him to give her son a better life by taking his money. Had things ended there it would have been fine, but this strange man who never ate, was always cold, and avoided sun like it would burn proved an enticing enigma to Sam. When the evidence piled up and could no longer be ignored Sam began to suspect there was more going on than she could see. In the end her help investigating a murder, a favor to Adrian for his help on a prior case, proved the final doorway into the dark corners of the night.
During the past two years Sam has managed to stay sane (no mean feat) as she embraced her psychic gifts, and confronted the reality of the supernatural. She is well known in the private investigations community as somebody who has the uncanny ability to find nearly anything, and to crack difficult cases. Her relationship with the police has actually grown as she has been instrumental in solving a few murders (when hired by the victims' families), as well as for assisting with other cases directly for the LAPD. When it comes to missing persons she is the go to consultant.
Morality:
Sam tries to do the right thing, but in a city like L.A. corruption, graft, and, occasionally, the limits of the system prevent the right thing from happening. Years ago when she was a junior detective assisting on an investigation and lead detective, knowing that they did not have the evidence needed to convict the primary suspect in a rape, planted evidence in the man's home. Sam knew it was wrong, but felt the risk was worth getting the rapist off the streets. That was the first time, but not the last, that she participated in planting evidence with the goal to ensure that a criminal ended up in jail regardless of the actual evidence. Justice needed to be served, even if it needed some help.
Years later, working as a PI, Sam was trailing a man whose wife was worried that he was cheating on her. She found that the man was a mob enforcer and his current job was apparently to kill a businessman who was delinquent on his debts. The businessman was on his knees, a gun in his mouth, when Samantha confronted the pair. The enforcer laughed, saying that his boss would ensure that he would not go to jail for the crime, going so far as to imply that Sam and her family would be killed as well if she tried to testify. Then he shot the businessman dead. He dropped his gun, and taunted her to call the cops, "I'll be out in 24 hours ..." Consumed by fear and anger she shot him dead. The courts ruled it self defense, he had a gun, freshly fired, a dead body at his feet. She was justified they said.
Relationships:
Sam's father Richard, is retired from the force, but he still maintains friendships with many of the police and regularly plays golf with them. Sam gets along well with her father and has been thankful that he has been around to be a shoulder for her to lean on during the past few years.
Sam's son Tim is a normal seven year old. He misses his mommy when she is away for work and is ecstatic when she comes home every day. Like Sam he has dark brown hair, and bright inquisitive eyes.
Tim's father George is a deadbeat, he routinely holds out on child support but pays up before any legal action can be taken, the result has been that Sam cannot rely on him to help her raise Tim. When they speak its bound to end in an argument within minutes unless there is a legal mediator there to prevent it. George has one weekend a month with Tim and he seems to do nothing but spoil the young boy in an attempt to further make Samantha's life miserable.
Foreshadowing:
Samantha's seems to be continuing to develop along what could best be described as "psychic sensitive/detector". She has occasional glimpses of auras surrounding people and, on a small handful of occasions, has sworn she could hear people's thoughts. Aura Reading, Mind Reading, are both within her grasp in the future. Active powers (i.e. non sensory) are still beyond her grasp, but may become possible.

Monday August 22nd
From Tuna Canyon Sam drove toward the city, her phone cradled on her shoulder as she called her client. "Hi, August, it's Sam."
"Hi Sam, how are things going?" August sounded a little stressed.
"Good, well, OK. Listen I was hoping you had a little time, I'd like to stop by and get that photo of Brad. I want to be able to show it around while I talk to people."
"Umm, sure. When?"
"I'm up in Malibu, so maybe an hour or so? Where should I meet you?"
"Do you know the Trader Joe's on Glendon Ave?" Sam replied in the affermative. "There's a sub place next door, Jersey Mike's. I'll meet you there."
"That sounds perfect, I could use some lunch anyways. See you soon." Sam hung up and turned out onto the PCH headed east toward LA proper. The drive took about forty minutes and parking another ten but thankfully she was able to locate a space between the campus and the sub shop.
Sam walked into Jersey Mike's Subs her stomach already starting to rumble; breakfast had been a hasty half bagel and that was nearly six hours ago. She quickly got into line, ordered a turkey wrap, despite really wanting a Big Kahuna Cheese-steak, and a bottle of water that proved foolishly expensive. "Three bucks for a water," she muttered as she sat down, irritated. She took a bite out of the wrap and was glad it tasted good, settling for a low fat, no cheese, diet option was good for her waistline, but bad for her tastebuds. What I wouldn't do for a good piece of pie.

August 11
Sam was surprised by the knock on the door of her office. She was filling out billing slips for a couple of clients on an otherwise slow day to get ahead. With no pending cases Sam had even considered taking tomorrow off spend time with her son. Looking up she called, "Come in, the door's open." Sweeping the papers into a pile she laid them into a drawer as the door opened.
"Good afternoon Miss Spaid," Mr. Smythe said as he walked into the room, his former drawl reduced to only a hint of an accent. Sam guessed he really was from the South, but played it up further when it suited.
Sam's eyes narrowed. "Mr. Smythe, how can I help you?" She managed to keep the edge out of her voice, disguising it with a pleasantly bland concern. In the two weeks since she'd located Mr. Smythe's son for him she'd caught somebody tailing her twice, and been told by one of her contacts that a man fitting the description of the man's son had been asking about her with some of the less routine channels. Whomever these men were they had been doing their homework. She smirked, "Perhaps I can help you locate your lost accent this time around?"
Smythe chuckled, a sound like dry reeds shifting against each other. He sat down, his thin frame folding into the chair in a way that made Sam think of a preying mantis; she shivered despite the warmth. "Miss Spaid I'm going to stop playing games, because I know that you've spent some of your time locating myself and my son, and that you are aware of our inquiries about you. We needed they help of an appropriately skilled detective, and I believe you, fit that bill."
Sam's expression soured, "You'd have been better off trying to lie to me Mr. Smythe, I don't like people snooping around my life."
Smythe spread his hands in a placating gesture, "I am sorry for the ... duplicitous nature of our initial encounter. I had heard that no detective in Los Angles could find things better, or faster, than you could. You proved truth to the rumor, most impressively given how little information there was to go on."
"I know my city," Sam replied
"And I expect that there is more to it. My ... sources have indicated to me that this is rather par for the course for you. Some might call your record and your skills, supernatural in scope." Smythe seemed to be hinting at something strongly, and Sam was worried that she knew exactly what it was. "Regardless of your methodology Miss Spaid, I have a job for you, if you will take it, and I think if you hear me out you will."
Sam scowled, "Then you'd better get on with it before I decide to kick you out and file a restraining order."
Smythe quirked an eyebrow, "I'll keep it short then. I need your help tracking down a monster."

August 22, morning
"Come on Chuck, you can't be serious. No information at all? A con artist swindling people with cheap trinket jewelry and you guys know nothing?" Sam wasn't sure if he was feeding her a load of shit, or if a guy using methods so sloppy really had somehow gone under the radar.
"Listen, Samantha," he said, almost apologetically. "We have no information, nothing at all, if this guy exists he's new in town or keeps a really low profile. Probably the former if he's as clumsy as you suggest."
Sam sighed and pinched her nose, "I'm looking at the ring my client said he conned her friend into buying, it's garbage, I don't know how he managed to pull a con with something that a child wouldn't fancy, but however he did it, it wasn't clumsy." Sam had to admit that anybody who could pawn off the little trinket on her desk as a valuable piece of jewelry had to be pretty skilled. She just couldn't figure out why they would make the evidence of their crime so painfully obvious.
"Well, then he keeps a low profile. Sorry I can't help you out more but I can't tell you what I don't know."
"It's OK, thanks Chuck, I owe you a beer."
"I'll take dinner and a movie instead, my treat," he said, almost hopefully.
Sam smiled, into the phone, "Sorry, you know I don't date cops."
"Yeah, yeah, I get it. Anytime you change your mind Sam, just call me."
"Sure, Chuck. And thanks for the information, or lack thereof. Bye." Sam flipped her phone closed and cursed softly. She'd called around to a handful of guys she knew had their eyes and ears open on the streets and none of them knew anything. In an hour's work of calls she'd verified only the possibility that this man was either new to the city or kept a low profile. The former seemed most likely based on the evidence at hand. There was little point in making more phone calls, she needed to get her feet to the street and pound pavement. She opened her desk and pulled out a lockbox that opened with a combination and a small key. Inside was several hundred dollars in ten and twenty dollar bills, with a few fifties and hundreds; graft money. She grabbed three hundred, and then locked the box and returned it to the deck, locking it as well. She knew the places to go, the people who's palms could be greased for information.
She checked her weapon, and then locked up and left, getting into her car to make the rounds to the dive bars and street hustlers were the right money got you information with little questions asked. An hour turned to two, and two turned into four; the morning shifted to afternoon as she made her rounds. The later in the day it got the smaller the wad of extra bills in the pocket of her jeans got, and for all her efforts the list of facts about this Jeremy character was as short as it had been in the morning.
Frustrated Sam pulled her car up to the curb and got out, slamming the door a little harder than was needed. The little car rocked slightly as Sam looked up the street. A man, slight and thin, was standing at a small folding table, with various odds and ends displayed upon it, ostensibly for sale. Sam fingered the last forty bucks she had in her pocket, wincing at the thinness of the bundle of bills. Expenses were paid by the client, but even with her rates reduced her fees would tax August and her friends to the limits of their modest student incomes.
She approached Ricky casually, at a strolling pace, no need to spook the twitchy little snitch. He watched her with dark shifting eyes, glancing all around to make sure she was alone; that they were alone. "Hey Sam, sexy as always. Pretty lady like you need some pretty jewelry?"
"Flattery will get you nowhere Ricky," Sam said with a smile. Flattery might not get him anywhere but Sam didn't mind being called sexy or pretty ever. "Besides I already have some crappy jewelry, I was hoping you could tell me who made it." Sam produced the ring from he pocket, the sixty dollars was rolled up inside the loop of the ring. He took it and before she could blink the money was gone, palmed off and away. He studied the cheap ring for a moment and then looked at Sam, and then the ring again. "My friend said that her man bought that from a guy named Jeremy. Apparently he was pretty slick, got good cash for that trinket. My friend's boyfriend went missing and I'm trying to track this Jeremy guys down to ask him some questions."
Ricky handed the ring back and rolled his shoulders, looking this way and that, before he spoke. "You ain't heard it from me right?"
"Ricky, how long have I known you? You ever catch heat off me?" Sam scowled, "Let me rephrase that you little perv, you ever get in trouble because of me?"
"No," he sounded almost sullen, he probably resented being called a perv despite it being entirely true. "Look for him in Tuna Canyon Park.... southwest of the Topangas. He hangs there, looks for marks."
Sam smiled brightly, Finally! "Thanks Ricky, I owe you a little something extra next time!" She was already headed toward her car, the cheap ring clutched in her hand tightly; things were looking up.
"You always say that Sam!" Ricky called. As he watched her go he leered, "Sorry to see you leave, but always happy to watch you go girl."
A little info. First roll: Manipulation + Persuasion = 6 dice -2 (scarce info.) Police contacts
Second Roll: Manipulation + Persuasion = 6 dice -2 (scarce info.) Underworld contacts
4d10.hitsopen(8,10)=0, 4d10.hitsopen(8,10)=1

August 17, 2011
“So that’s it,” Javier said, his thin face made longer with worry. “No one’s seen Brad in two weeks.”
“Wow,” Marley said, her eyes wide. “Seriously. Nothing?”
“We had a date last Friday, which he missed,” August told them. That raised a few eyebrows. Brad’s interest in her had been well-known throughout the School of Film. “That’s when I started to think that he wasn’t just laying low after that stupid bastard conned him.”
“He was looking for him,” Gabe told the table somberly.
“Who?” Marley asked.
“The con-artist.” Javier was the one who answered, though Marley was looking at Gabe. “He told Gabe and I that he’d gotten a lead on the guy. Someone named ‘Jackson’ was going to sell him information on the guy.”
“You let him go alone?” August asked, her cheeks flushing as she turned a dire eye on the two men.
“There was no ‘let’, August,” Gabe told her, his brown eyes somber. The Asian American looked as upset as she felt. “We tried to talk him out of it, but he was determined to get his money back.”
Javier crossed his arms and snorted, his wide, dark nostrils flaring as he stated, “Get his pride back. That’s what was messing with him.”
“There’s only one thing to do,” Steph said. She was Gabe’s half-sister, and the resemblance was clear despite her white father’s genetic influence. “We have to take this to the cops.”
“Devon already called the cops, and filed a missing persons report.” Javier didn’t look mollified as he spoke.
“Seriously,” Marley grumbled, “Devon’s just his roommate. He doesn’t care about Brad. He’s probably glad he doesn’t have to share the remote anymore.”
“Is this something we want to get involved in?” Gabe asked uneasily.
“Yeah. Brad’s our friend. Let’s take what we know to the police,” August said. She rose and the others stood with her, pleased that someone was pushing them to action.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Campus security was great for crimes on campus, but no one knew whether the crime had happened on campus. So they went to the West Los Angeles Community Police Station. The group of five had to wait for almost an hour before a detective from the Missing Persons Unit could see them. Their first look was promising; an older man, thick but not fat, with cool, calculating eyes. He introduced himself as Detective Robinson. The five gave their information to him; he wrote it all down and then said, “Thank you for the information. We’ll keep looking for your friend.”
“Wait, is that all?” August asked, her brow furrowing. After their trek, it didn’t seem right that it should end with a five minute conversation.
“Yes, ma’am. We’ll continue to look for your friend, but I’ll be honest – there are a lot of missing persons,” Detective Robinson told them. “We’re doing everything we can. If you’re not satisfied, you should hire a private investigator.”
That seemed to deflate most of them, but August asked, “Do you know a good one?”
“I know lots of good ones, and some affordable ones,” Robinson said, cracking a grin for the first time. “Lemme give you a few names.”

July 28
*Tick*
Sam sighed. Idly she scratched out a circle on the yellow legal pad with the stubby, worn down, remains of number two pencil.
*Tick*
A pair of dots and an aggravated slash resulted in a simple face with a bemused and tired expression. She glanced up at the clock on the wall.
*Tick*
Nine thirty-eight. "DAMNIT!" she groaned as it became obvious that her nine o'clock appointment was a no-show. She hated when they did that. Somehow it was better to sit in the office and wait for walk-ins when none came, than to wait for an appointment only to have them not show up. She wondered what Timmy was up to today.
*Tick*
The calendar said it was Thursday. She blinked, having almost forgotten that simple fact in the light of abject boredom backed up by frustration. Thursdays her father spent the day with his grandson. She'd dropped the boy off this morning, barely an hour ago.
*Tick*
Sam leaned back in her chair and wondered what they were doing. Probably they were at breakfast. If Timmy had his way, and he probably did, they were at Mimi's preparing for a day at Disneyland. Sam's father doted on his grandson as grandparents are wont to do, and he had found himself getting talked into Disneyland more than once this summer. Back in May Sam had purchased a unlimited season pass to the Park for one adult and one child. She and Timmy had gone nearly a dozen times since then, and Timmy and his grandfather had probably gone another half dozen or more. Her son loved it there, never growing tired of it, never growing bored with the same rides and sights.
Sam was a bit sick of it herself. When she had questioned her father about it he had laughed and said that once he figured out that Timmy would believe him if he said that the "It's A Small World" ride was closed he found that he didn't really mind. Sam had laughed, "So a little white lie to save yourself from that ride and you are good to go?"
"Take joy from a child's simple happiness dear. I know I did when you were little," he had told her. It was good advice, and she often did just that, summers were tough, she still had to work, but since school was out she needed to be sure Timmy was looked after. She took one day off a week from June until September, and her father took him on Thursdays every week, but that still left the nanny or a sitter for three days, and sometimes on weekends if she needed to work.
Too much time away from her son, her everything. Without Tim her life wouldn't be the same at all. She rarely thought of it, but she would probably be Police Detective Samantha Spaid instead of Private Detective Sam Spaid. She would likely be more fit, though the past two years had done wonders to get her back to where she had been before Tim was born. She would probably see the doubt about her age in people's eyes when they carded her for liquor, or when she flashed a badge, instead of the more neutral looks she saw now. Still, she would never think of wishing for anything else. Timmy was her world, and if being a mother meant that she didn't look ten years younger than her age anymore, or that she couldn't handle the hours of a police detective in order to raise her son, well, so be it.
*Tick*
Sam considered another cup of coffee, but it was already a little hot, and she was wide awake anyways. She glanced up at the clock again.
*Tick*
"Oh, this is going to be one of those days," he all but cried. Not even five minutes had passed.